Envy

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  I sighed, but it was good because this was one of those few times when I was alone in this two-woman cell that held three cots. That was why I often stayed behind whenever Beth and Monica ventured out; this was the only time I could breathe.

  But that wasn’t the reason why I’d stayed behind today. I’d stayed because I was waiting for my sentencing. Today, I’d find out how long I’d be in prison.

  I looked up and was reminded of the canopy that was on top of my bed at Gabrielle’s house. That was the only thing this cot had in common with that bed that had been mine. Here, the ceiling was blocked from my view, too—by the bunk above me.

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, over and over. Preparing for what I had to face. My cell mate had been right. Everything Beth said, my attorney, Mr. Steele, had told me.

  When the women in here heard that I was being represented by Theodore Steele, they all swooned—and it wasn’t just because of his looks. He was the best, they said. I wasn’t surprised. Elijah had hired him, and that was how my father rolled.

  My father.

  I hated that Elijah was paying for this expensive attorney. Hated that he kept putting money on my books. It was too much, but I’d never told him that. Because whenever he came to the jail, I refused to see him. I refused to see Gabrielle and Mauricio, too. There was no way I could face any of them, not after all I’d done.

  At least they’d stop trying to see me now. They’d have to. It had been too easy for them to make the trip to downtown Los Angeles, where I’d been since the day the police had taken me from Gabrielle’s home—in handcuffs, like Regan promised.

  After my sentencing today, I’d be moved. Probably to the Central California Women’s Facility out in Chowchilla. That four-hour drive would certainly deter Elijah and Gabrielle from coming to see me now. At least that was what I hoped.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about leaving this place I’d called home for a little over six months. I’d gotten to know the facility, the people. It was crazy that I felt comfortable in a jail; I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about a prison.

  But then I thought back to my beginnings here. That day when it had all happened, I didn’t know what to expect back then either . . .

  I was scared, but not so much for me. Even though I sat in the back of this police car with my hands cuffed in front of me, I was more scared for Regan. The Lord knew that I didn’t like that lady, but having to go through this—I didn’t even wish this on her.

  But once the police took me inside the precinct and sat me down in this room, the fear that filled me up was all for me.

  “I’ll be right back,” one of the detectives said before he left me alone in a room that looked like we were shooting an episode of Law & Order.

  This was the first time that my heart really pounded. Oh, how I wished that I could talk to Buck. He would calm me down, tell me what to do; he’d say, “I got you, boo.”

  But I was afraid that he might be in trouble, too. Regan knew something about what I’d done with the credit cards—suppose she knew about Buck, too?

  Even though there was a chair in the room, I didn’t sit down. I just walked from one wall to the other, trying to figure out what was going on. There was too much to imagine—first Regan and then the credit cards. What was I going to do?

  I had no idea how long I waited in that room; I just knew it was long enough for my fear to flip to crazy. The room was small, and it was getting smaller. And hotter. Just when I started thinking about banging on the door, it opened and a black man came in. He didn’t look like a policeman; he didn’t look like anything because he looked like he’d just come from a run on the beach, dressed in a sweat suit.

  “Keisha?”

  I didn’t say yes; I didn’t say no. I just stared at him.

  He said, “My name is Theodore Steele.” He held out his hand. “Your father, Elijah, asked me to come here for you.”

  “Is he here?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. He’s on his way.”

  “I don’t want to see him.”

  “Well,” Mr. Steele said as he sat down and then motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him, “you can decide when he gets here.”

  “I already know.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, we have other things to talk about.”

  “Do you know anything about Regan?”

  “The young lady who fell down the stairs?”

  I nodded, but I didn’t correct him. There would be plenty of time to tell him that I’d pushed her.

  “I don’t have anything on her yet. And we have to talk about her, about what happened . . . and we have to talk about those credit cards.”

  Now I pressed my lips together. I’d talk about Regan, but the credit cards? No. Because of Buck.

  Mr. Steele said, “Do you know someone by the name of Bobby-John Hansen?”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t mean to. It was just that I was so surprised when he said Buck’s real name.

  It seemed that I didn’t have to say too much. Mr. Steele knew a lot more than I did. He knew about Buck and Que and what they’d been doing. Seemed like the feds had been onto them for a while. I wondered if they had given the police my name or if Regan was the one.

  After Mr. Steele told me everything he knew, I said, “It doesn’t matter. I want to plead guilty.”

  He shook his head before I had even finished. “No, you don’t have to do that. I’m good at what I do, Keisha. I can get you off.”

  “I don’t want a trial. I don’t want nothing. I don’t even want Elijah to have to pay you.”

  “All right.” But the way he said it, I had a feeling he would keep trying to change my mind. “We have to wait probably until tomorrow for you to be charged, and then bail will be set.”

  “I don’t want bail either.”

  This time, his eyes got wide. “Keisha, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you don’t want to spend any time in this place.”

  We debated back and forth a few times, and then Mr. Steele gave up.

  “Okay,” he said. “You have to stay here at least for tonight. We’ll see how you feel tomorrow about bail.”

  He said that with kind of a smirk in his voice. Like after one night I’d be begging for bail. But Mr. Steele didn’t know me. He didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know that my life had prepared me for a time such as this.

  I OPENED MY eyes . . . it was hard to believe that I hadn’t left this place since that day. I’d celebrated Christmas and New Year’s and even the dates of the birth and death of Nzuri.

  And now it was coming to an end.

  “Keisha.”

  I rolled off the bed at the sound of the CO’s voice.

  “It’s time to head over to the court.”

  I’d done this twice before, so I knew the ritual: the handcuffs, the shackles—only because we would be leaving the building. Like the other times, I was alone in the van and there was little that I could see from the barred windows. Inside the courthouse, I changed my clothes. It was the only time I was allowed out of my prison uniform.

  In less than an hour from when the CO came to my cell, I was walking beside two sheriffs.

  When they led me into the courtroom, I sighed. This was just what I wanted to avoid. All of the faces I didn’t want to see were there, staring back at me: Elijah, Gabrielle, Mauricio . . . and then there were Regan and her husband, all in the front row.

  Before I’d taken two steps, Gabrielle jumped up, but I averted my eyes away from hers. I was led to the table where I’d sat with Mr. Steele the last time—when I’d pleaded guilty to the charges of assault and voluntary manslaughter.

  Yes, I was a murderer. Fetal homicide for the death of Regan’s baby. They’d dropped the credit card fraud charges against me. I guessed going after a murderer was better for their records.

  When the sheriff left me in the custody of my attorney, Mr. Steele shook my hand. “How are you?”
/>   I blinked and he nodded. In this system, a blink was considered communication, it seemed.

  That was all I wanted to give him because if I turned and talked, I’d be able to see Gabrielle and Elijah from the corner of my eye. So I just blinked, then turned and faced the front of the courtroom, right in time for the bailiff to tell us, “All rise.”

  Even as I stood, and then waited for the judge to hit her gavel, I felt the heat of the stares behind me. From Elijah and Gabrielle, I felt their pleas for me to turn around, just once.

  And then there was Regan. I knew her stare that bore into my back was one that would send me straight to hell if that were possible.

  My eyes stayed steady on the judge. All I was doing was waiting for Regan to get up, give her statement, and ask the judge to change the law so that I could be sentenced to death. I wasn’t even mad at her for what she was going to say. That was what I would’ve asked if I’d had anyone to blame for my baby.

  The bailiff spoke, “The case of the State of California versus Keisha LaVonne Wilson.”

  Wilson. I didn’t even hear anything else from the bailiff nor the judge. I only focused on that word: Wilson. I’d never used that name before. Never had a way to do it because of Mama. And I never had a need because one of Mama’s johns had gotten me my driver’s license since Mama said she’d lost my birth certificate. I never told her that I had a copy, never told her all she had to do was go to the County Clerk’s office.

  So now, for the first time in my life as I sat in court for being a murderer, I was a Wilson.

  My attention returned to the judge just as she asked the prosecutor if there would be any victims’ statements.

  “Yes, Your Honor. Regan Givens.”

  I held my breath and kept my eyes forward as I felt the movement behind me. This was going to be tough to listen to, but I wanted Regan to have this time. This was the only thing I could give her.

  The podium that was set up for Regan to speak was a little bit in front of the table, so it was hard for me not to look at her. As she settled her notes on the podium, I noticed that Regan looked thinner than when I last saw her . . . and that made me sad.

  “Thank you, Your Honor, for this opportunity.” Regan paused. “I met Keisha Wilson a little more than a year ago. She’s the sister of my best friend, Gabrielle Wilson Flores. Keisha and I have never had a relationship. We were adversaries from that first day we met.

  “When I look back, however, I realize that both of us were protecting our territories. I wanted to protect my best friend, and Keisha was doing what she knew how to do—she was taking care of herself. So those were two worlds that would always collide; they could never exist on the same axis.

  “I’m sure if Keisha and I had found any kind of common ground, any room for a relationship, what happened would have never happened. And for that, I accept some responsibility.”

  My eyes widened at her words.

  “And not only would that day back in October of last year not have happened, but I may have been able to have an influence on her after I found out the other things she’d been doing. I may have gone to Keisha before I went to the police. I may have tried to save her instead of punishing her.” She paused. “And so what I’m asking from this court is leniency and the understanding that I never gave her.”

  “What?” I said those words under my breath, but Mr. Steele still touched my arm, quieting me.

  Regan continued, “I’m asking for the court to take into consideration everything about Keisha Wilson, how she was raised, and most important”—she turned and faced me—“how she was a mother who lost her baby.”

  I swallowed. I didn’t know they knew about that pain.

  Regan faced the judge again. “There is something that happens to you when you lose a child. A piece of your soul dies, and without help, without love and the right support, I’m not sure you can ever be right again.

  “Keisha needed help, and I don’t think she ever received that. So while my husband and I grieve, we pray for Keisha every day, we have forgiven her, and we pray she will forgive herself. And because of that, we know we can look forward to a better time in our lives.” She paused before she added, “Thank you so much, Your Honor.”

  When she turned, her eyes paused on me for a moment, and all I could do . . . was blink.

  I pressed my hand against my chest, grateful that I had survived that, more grateful that this was now over.

  The judge turned to Mr. Steele.

  My attorney stood and said, “We would like Gabrielle Wilson Flores to give her statement.”

  I touched his arm, but he ignored me. What was this?

  Mr. Steele stood, then pushed open the little wooden gate for Gabrielle to come to the side where we sat.

  Now my heart pounded like that was my punishment. I’d been prepared for Regan. I knew what she was going to say—or so I thought. I’d had no time to prepare for this.

  Gabrielle smiled, though I turned my eyes from her once again. It wasn’t until she stood at the podium that I checked out the chic knit pantsuit she wore. St. John’s for sure.

  Like Regan, she began by thanking the judge. Then she said, “I am so grateful to be standing up and speaking for my sister. There’s not much more for me to add to what Regan Givens has already said.” Her voice trembled. “But what I can add is that as a sister who just found out that Keisha Wilson and I were related, there have been few times in my life when I was happier. From the moment I met her, I’ve loved this young woman. I love her innocence, her enthusiasm for life—and I love the way she loves my daughter, her niece.” She paused. “And now I know why.” Those words made her have to take another breath. “If we’d had more time”—she shook her head—“I doubt any of this would have happened. We didn’t have enough time to discover each other or for me to help her with the hurt she’d had in her life. She was raised by a mom who loved her, but there was so much she missed. I wish I’d understood how to help her get over the loss of her mom, how to help her get over the loss of her baby, which we knew nothing about until the investigators for this case brought that information to us.

  “I would give anything to go back so that Keisha would know she wasn’t alone. But even though she lived in our home, she didn’t know that. And so, Your Honor, I’m asking you for leniency so she can come home . . . to love. So that she can come home to her family, who want to love and nurture her more. A family who will be by her side always.”

  Again, Gabrielle turned to me. “Our love is unconditional. It has nothing to do with how you do right and what you do wrong. It’s love that lasts forever no matter what.”

  She faced the judge once again. “So, Your Honor, my father, my husband and I, too, have forgiven Keisha. But we don’t want that statement to be only words. We want the opportunity for Keisha to feel our forgiveness with action, and we hope you will give us that chance. Thank you.”

  By the time Gabrielle turned around, she was crying. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mauricio stand and hug her. And that was when I cried. Because Mr. Steele had told me they were back together, that Mauricio had gone home the same day I’d killed Regan’s baby. So even though that had been my plan, I was glad that I’d failed at destroying their marriage, too.

  The judge nodded to Mr. Steele, then said, “Does the defendant wish to make a statement?”

  Again, Mr. Steele stood. “No, Your Honor.”

  He said that because that was what I’d told him, but now I touched his arm and stood. “Yes,” I said before Mr. Steele or I could change my mind. “There is something I want to say.”

  His eyes widened, and I understood his concern. He’d told me anything I was going to say in court had to be prepared and practiced. But what I had to say needed no prep time.

  The judge said, “You may speak from where you’re standing.”

  I said, “Thank you,” to the judge, and then I did what I’d been avoiding. I turned to the first row behind me. I turned to all of their faces, the
ir eyes all glassy with tears—for me. And I said, “I’m sorry.”

  Then I sat. Then I wept.

  Except for the cries, the courtroom was silent for a few moments before the judge began.

  “Keisha Wilson, would you please stand?”

  Mr. Steele stood with me.

  “You have been charged with and pleaded guilty to assault and voluntary manslaughter in the death of a fetus. This is a charge that the state of California takes seriously. You caused the death of an unborn child, a person to this state.”

  The judge could have stopped right there because her words would play in my mind forever—a lifetime sentence of shame.

  She continued, “I know the credit card fraud was a separate charge that was dropped and is no longer part of this case, but I want you to understand this—that was money that could be replaced. The life of that fetus cannot be.”

  Babies don’t die.

  The judge said, “However, the statements that were given today, including yours, prove to me that not only is there hope, but rehabilitation and reconciliation is more than possible. Therefore, I am sentencing you to three years, which will be served in one of the women’s detention facilities in the state. You will get credit for time served.” She paused and almost smiled. “I wish you God’s speed, young lady.”

  She hit her gavel, everyone stood, and Mr. Steele hugged me.

  “You got the minimum sentence,” he said with joy in his voice. “With time served and good behavior, you may not be there for very long. I’m going to work that out.”

  This time, I did more than blink; I nodded.

  Then he whispered, “I’ve arranged for you to say good-bye to your father and sister.”

  But right away, I shook my head.

  His eyes, which had seemed so happy a moment ago, dimmed. “Keisha . . .”

  “No.” I shook my head, then followed the sheriff as quickly as I could.

  Behind me, I heard their shouts. “I love you, Keisha.”

  They all shouted together, so their voices blended. And I still heard them when I stepped from the courtroom. Even as I walked to the room where I’d get to talk to Mr. Steele again, their voices rang in my ears.